


Chuckles

by ChinVilla



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Character Study, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e01 Life Is Fluid, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jay Halstead Whump, Military Background, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChinVilla/pseuds/ChinVilla
Summary: How did Jay Halstead acquire the nickname Chuckles? A character study inspired by season 2 episode 17 'Say Her Real Name'.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 101





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all had happy holidays.
> 
> So, I hate to start another while I'm still in the process of writing one that I'm already posting, I just couldn't help myself with writing this one down. Those of you who have been (and hopefully still are) reading 'The Birth of Worlds', don't worry, I am not abandoning it. Quite the opposite, because I consider that tale my baby. I did, however, need a break from writing about sorrow and heartbreak and grief for a minute, because I've lost a couple patients this past week and needed something a little bit lighter to cheer me up.
> 
> This is where this story comes in. I've had the idea for this one for a few months now, just never stopped to actually write it down. But when I was browsing through some outcast tidbits that were once written for TBoW but never really fit anywhere in it, I noticed some of them would fit into this story rather well. Which is why I decided to finally write this down and incorporate those crumbs in here.
> 
> If you haven't read TBoW: you don't have to in order to understand this one. They could potentially weave into one another, but they are essentially completely separate from one another.
> 
> The story was supposed to be a one-shot but it grew and grew and eventually bloated into this massive thing, so I cut it into two chapters, the second part to be posted later this week because I still need to dust it off.
> 
> Oh man, I didn't mean to go on such a long rant. I'll stop now. Here we go. Enjoy!

_“Hey, Chuckles.”_

_“Detective Chuckles, if you don’t mind.”_

(2x17 'Say Her Real Name')

...

“Jay Halstead,” Trudy Platt read off the top of the personal information form and glanced at him over the rim of her reading glasses. The man in question gave a single nod and flashed a charming smile at her.

It was his first day at the twenty-first district, a full ten minutes after he had stepped into the precinct, and this was the first time she lifted her gaze. When Antonio Dawson had introduced him to her, she had merely pushed a stack of paperwork across, motioning for him to fill it out without ever saying a word, no greeting, and not even deigning to look at him. Smirking knowingly, the Puerto Rican had left him to glean what all these forms were for. Seriously though: transferring to another unit, even if it was in another district, shouldn’t require so many of them.

The desk sergeant hadn’t exactly provided him with an answer either. Her nose had been buried deep in what he assumed was a gossip magazine, and whatever article she was reading appeared so captivating that she didn’t pay any attention to him whatsoever while he filled sheet after sheet with personal data. Once he was done, he slid the completed stack back at her. At last, she put her glossy away and applied herself to his transfer forms, though she didn’t seem interested in anything past the box with his name in it. Instead, she scanned him up and down, greenish-brown eyes sharp and assessing. After studying him rather intensely, a grunted “huh” slipped off her tongue, and somehow, she managed to make the single syllable sound disparaging. The frequent twitch of her right nasal wing accentuated that, but other than that her face was a stony mask. “Figures,” she huffed as she went back to the paperwork.

In the short time in which she acknowledged his presence, the young man picked up on one of two things: while the woman feigned boredom and disinterest as she flipped lazily through the numerous forms, she was in fact skimming the pages for specific information, likely to be evaluated more closely later. He could tell from the way her eyes flickered ever so slightly every now and then. Most people would have missed it, and if he hadn’t watched her so intently, he might have too.

His second observation was more obvious: without the aid of a real conversation, she had already made up her mind about him, and from the way she scoffed at him he could tell that he hadn’t left an entirely good first impression. Quite the opposite, actually. She very clearly didn’t like him. What he didn’t know was why, and what exactly ‘figured’ in her opinion. So, he outright asked. “What does?” he asked with fake casualness, though he was genuinely curious.

The young detective was certain that he had never met the woman before. He’d never stepped foot in this building either. And he definitely hadn’t crossed her path on a case, he was sure of that. Granted, in a little over three years on the force, he had rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Occupational hazard. If you were fighting crime for a living, you were bound to stir up hatred amongst those committing it. But no matter how many enemies he had made out on the streets, he tried his best to stay on good terms with his fellow officers, especially his superiors. So even if he had come across her in the line of duty at some point, it was highly unlikely that he had given her a reason to despise him. He may be a tad reserved sometimes, and if he felt brave, he could be a little bit sassy too. But most of the time he was friendly and professional. And he was always, always respectful of the chain of command, no matter what.

Jay straightened his back a little as he waited for her reply, and sure enough, she provided one a second later. “Dawson told me about you,” she stated coolly, little enthusiasm in her voice. She put the sheets down on the desk and raised her eyes to scrutinize him once more, and unreadable expression gracing her face. “You’re one of those cops who think that Adonis-like looks and dating the sister of a respected,” she emphasized the last word with distinct pronunciation, “detective is all it takes to get an in with every unit they so desire.” The brunette blinked once, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. Surely, Antonio hadn’t said those exact words to her? Unimpressed by the question mark on his face, Trudy continued. “Things work different here in the twenty-first, Officer Halstead.”

“Detective,” he blurted out. It was an automated response, one that he had had to give so many times in the past two years that by now he was programmed to auto-correct whenever someone made the mistake of addressing him by the wrong rank. He didn’t do it out of arrogance. He did it because he had earned this title, had not just aced the detective’s exam but worked hard for it, and it was the one thing in his life that he was infinitely proud of. And he wouldn’t allow anyone to take this one source of confidence from him. Frankly, the doubt on Platt’s face tried to do just that, so he cleared his throat and asserted strongly, “It’s Detective, not Officer,” forcing what he hoped was an appeasing smile, even if it felt strained and wrong.

Regretfully, it failed to have the desired mellowing effect, because the desk sergeant reacted with a frown, a roll of her eyes and a miniscule shake of the head, her mien indicating that she didn’t care one bit. She took off her glasses and pierced him with a scornful glare. “Words of advice, Halstead,” she deliberately left out any title to articulate her indifference regard that specific detail, “snobbery, laziness and skirt-chasing will get you nowhere here. If you think you deserve a permanent spot up in Intelligence, which is yet to be determined and highly unlikely by the way, you are expected to put some real effort in,” she snubbed and placed the binoculars back on her nose. “I doubt you’ll last longer than a second up there. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you,” she added for good measure, eyes icy, menacing and full of contempt. The detective was certain, if looks could kill he would be on his deathbed right now.

It had been a while since Jay had been patronized like that by a superior. Unfortunately, it was far from the first time this happened, and he had a feeling it wasn’t the last either. When you were blessed with semi-good looks and happened to be successful on top of that, people more often than not jumped to the conclusion that the latter was a sole byproduct of the former. He hated that assumption, hated to be reduced to his physical attributes, which in his opinion weren’t even that great. He was an average guy of average height and average built. There were only two aspects about his appearance that he considered above average: the ridiculous number of freckles on his skin and the countless scars littering his body from his time overseas.

Another thing that he considered above average but wasn’t at all related to his physique were his accomplishments. Jay Halstead by no means was a bragger, but he wasn’t oblivious to his strengths either. He knew he had achieved quite a lot in his twenty-six years, probably more than most in their mid-twenties. The brunette had enough reason o be proud of his himself, yet he kept his successes close to the vest. In fact, he was forever humble about them. He hated the attention, the questions and the thankyous for his service, hated it all because he knew that once the initial awe and adoration ebbed away, people tended to replace it with envy, pity and malevolence.

But it was days like today – days when investigators of all people not just underestimated him but downright invalidated everything that he had worked so hard for, basically deeming him incapable of doing their job, even though they didn’t even know him or anything about him – when he wished he weren’t so Goddamn modest and private all the time. It was days like today when he wished he were every bit as cocksure as people made him out to be and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass what others thought of him once the truth came out.

That wasn’t him though. Halstead wasn’t the least bit pretentious or condescending. Contrary to what everyone assumed, he was rather diffident and introverted, always had been. And he cared way too much about how he was perceived by others. That’s why he didn’t like to present every puzzle piece of who he was on a silver platter for people to pick apart and poke fun at. He let them jest but only at the things that he allowed them to see. He would go about dealing with Trudy Platt’s judgement in the same way: by leaving her to believe that her opinion of him was right, that she had him all figured out. By swallowing the hurt that came with being lowballed once again and plastering an elusive smile on his face, chuckling timidly, “thanks for the advice, Sergeant. I’ll keep that in mind.” Jay ignored the sneer as she shook her head appraisingly yet again, and calmly inquired, “is there anything else I need to fill out or sign?”

“Yeah. Your letter of resignation when you realize that Intelligence is way out of your league,” she muttered under her breath as she shuffled the papers into a neat stack, but she intended for him to hear every word. He did, and oh dear Lord, they stung. Nevertheless, he suppressed a grimace and decided to pay no heed to the snide remark. Covering his disappointment with another uneasy chuckle, he tapped the edge of the wooden desk once and retreated, desperate to get away from the desk and its sergeant, hoping that by putting some distance between her and himself, he’d be able to detach himself from the hurt her comment left behind.

He joined Antonio Dawson at the foot of the stairs, the Puerto Rican currently passing time by making small talk with one of the patrol officers as he waited for him to finish up with Trudy. The older detective excused himself from the beat cop when he noticed his approach and moved to meet him halfway. “Did you get the paperwork sorted out with Platt?” he asked en passant, chummily clapping him on the back as he led him towards the metal gate that separated them from the Intelligence office. Halstead tersely jerked his head in confirmation, which the black-haired man took as encouragement to continue. “She seems to be on a roll today. I haven’t seen her yank a detective’s chain like that in quite some time, if ever. That’s usually reserved for the uniforms,” Antonio laughed blithely.

Jay wasn’t the least bit amused, but he didn’t want to appear uptight, so he snorted quietly. “Probably because she thinks I’m an officer, not a detective,” he deadpanned, twisting the corner of his mouth upward a little. “Does she work on cases with Intelligence often?” he asked apprehensively, then by way of an explanation added, “because I’m fairly sure she hates my guts.” Despite his best attempts to keep his tone light, weariness crept in.

Dawson turned to face him as they halted in front of the palm scanner, jaunty glee dancing in his dark brown eyes. “Who, Platt?” he snickered with disbelief. “Nah, she doesn’t hate your guts,” he brushed off his concern with a lighthearted grin and a wave of his hand. “She might act all hardheaded and tough, but she’s actually quite harmless, really a softie at heart,” he clarified to which Jay merely arched a skeptical eyebrow. Upon seeing the look on his face, Antonio clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Halstead. It takes a while for her to warm up to new people, but once she knows you a little better, knows that you can do your job, she’ll be meek as a lamb. She was my training officer, so trust me, I should know.”

Still not entirely convinced, the younger man merely returned a noncommittal “uh-huh,” as he reached for the metal gate. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he grumbled, waiting as the senior detective entered the code and put the hand on his scanner, then pulled the door open as it hummed its approval. He le the Puerto Rican pass through first but hesitated to follow, lingering just enough to throw one final glance at the desk sergeant below. Unsurprisingly, a scowl was still on her face as she flipped through his forms again. Jay hoped Antonio was right and she would eventually war up to him once he’d proven his worth to her.

Trudy Platt didn’t have to like him. For all he cared, she didn’t even have to respect him. All he wanted was for her to at the very least tolerate him. Yeah, no, maybe that was a lie.

“Halstead, are you coming or not?” Dawson broke him from his thoughts. He tore his eyes away from the woman downstairs and shook his head to himself, heaving a long sigh. Squaring his shoulders, he climbed the stairs, taking two steps at a time to catch up with the older detective. Maybe his commanding officer in Intelligence, the legendary Sergeant Hank Voight, wouldn’t be so quick to judge as her. This right here was his dream, and he hoped to God he’d be given a fair shot at this.

…

Trudy Platt prided herself on her exceptional eye for detail. Barely anything escaped her hawklike watchful eyes. Back in her glorious days on patrol and later in robbery homicide, amongst others, the talent had earned her a lot of respect in a very much male dominated profession. Her astuteness had helped solve many hard-to-crack cases, probably still would if it hadn’t been for an unfortunate incident involving a bullet and her butt cheek. An incident which had landed her first in the hospital and later behind this very desk at the twenty-first. But even though she had been forced to kiss field work goodbye, sitting behind a desk in the foyer of a busy precinct gave her plenty of opportunity to train and finetune her ability. Therefore, her observation skills had never waned. She noticed a lot of things that other people missed or dismissed, which made it so much more fun for her to use those acquired tidbits of information to rile up the officers under her command.

In every sense of it, Trudy was like a vulture. Circling up above in dizzy height – her vantage point: the sturdy front desk – watching and waiting for the right opportunity to attack her carrion – her prey: the patrol officers. And once she did, she dug her claws in and used whatever weaknesses she had discovered to pick them apart. She loved making them squirm, loved getting under their skin. In good nature and with laudable intention, of course. Okay, maybe sometimes it was for her pure enjoyment, but mostly she just wanted her protégés to use their weak points to grow and improve themselves, and as a result become even better cops. At least the latter was the case with those she saw potential in.

Most of the time, Platt correctly put together the puzzle pieces that she gathered, creating an accurate portrait of the person standing in front of her. But every now and then she erred, and the pieces didn’t fit, leaving a distorted image behind. Everybody erred on occasion; erring was human, after all. But the desk sergeant didn’t like to err, in fact, she hated it. Not because she was ashamed to admit when she was wrong – she wasn’t – but because she knew that she was rather blunt in the way she presented the pieces to whatever puzzle she was putting together at that time. She had no problem being outspoken about her opinion when she was right, but she knew that her ruthless candor was brutal and biting and at times could be perceived as harassment. That she was ashamed of, because she was not okay with harassing those who didn’t deserve it.

Detective Jay Halstead happened to be one of those poor souls who ended up as one of those distorted images. Ended up being not just underestimated by her but also misjudged on an excruciatingly bastardy level. He wasn’t the first officer to be victimized by her in that way, she was aware, but he was the first in quite some time and he’d be one of the few people where she felt particularly awful about it too once she realized just how much she wronged him.

Thinking back, Trudy realized that her image of the young officer had already been tainted before she had met him. From the first time Antonio had mentioned him, she had pigeonholed him as one of those self-assured, cocky and womanizing wannabes who had merely joined the force to act out their childhood dreams of playing cops and robbers, not because they genuinely believed in doing some good for the city. Her idea of him undeniably arose from the fact that Dawson divulged to her that the undercover operative dated his sister Gabby during his assignment, when all he’d been supposed to do was get the necessary information and proof to nail a mobster who fleeced defenseless bar owners.

She’d made up her mind the moment she’d been fed this tiny little data. She didn’t even consider that desperate times called for desperate measures, and that sting operations often counted as such desperate times, thereby justified desperate measures. Yet, in her mind his behavior was unprofessional, downright unacceptable, and if he had worked under her orders, she most definitely would have given him the dressing-down of the century. Maybe even degraded him and kicked him all the way down to foot beat at twenty-sixth and Cal – the worst detail in the entire city of Chicago – before he even had the chance to spell his first name. So, when the Puerto Rican broached a few weeks later that he considered bringing this Halstead guy into Intelligence, Trudy saw red. Reasoning that he didn’t take the job serious enough, she had been convinced that he was an accident waiting to happen and simply didn’t belong in the elite unit.

When she eventually saw him for the first time, this wet behind the ears Ken doll with his youthful, freckled face and the lean, muscular built – he was admittedly handsome – she felt vindicated: the man was a playboy. And it validated her first instinct to dislike him, enhanced it to a strong aversion. Thus, her philosophy to always read between the lines before handing out a sentence was blown out the window, to be replaced by the practice of snap-judging a book by its cover. A grand mistake. One that she probably wouldn’t have become aware of or bothered ironing out if it hadn’t been for that flash of hurt and self-doubt and the pitiful attempt to brush it off with a laugh, or much rather a choked chuckle.

Had the hurt been a stand-alone emotion she would have ignored it. But coupled with the self-doubt the expression was so genuine, so profound, so… depressing that it fueled her suspicion. What really did her in, though, was that chuckle. There was something so ineffably sad about it, a deep insecurity, and dare she say vulnerability, a legitimate snobbish chauvinist wouldn’t possess much less express. This was what got her thinking, rethinking really, and she realized then that nothing about his demeanor fit with her prejudice – not his unobtrusive entrance into the building, not his respectful introduction and most certainly not his immediate acceptance of her piss-poor treatment.

Nothing about this made sense. Nothing about this was right. And it didn’t sit well with her that she had let herself be fooled so easily. Apparently, she missed some vital information, but she was determined to figure out what it was that she missed, and the perfect place to start were the transfer forms and the abridged résumé he had so kindly left with her. That and his personnel records. Little did she know, she was in for a big surprise that honest to God knocked Trudy Platt’s socks off, because never in a million years would she have expected any of this:

Jay Halstead, twenty-six, had apparently attended a private Catholic college preparatory school on a full scholarship. He’d been a straight A student and valedictorian of his class. But instead of applying to the renowned universities for which he’d been prepped, he had joined the Armed Forces right out of high school. Hand-picked and fast-tracked into Ranger School a mere week into basic training, and deployed immediately after graduation, he had climbed the ranks all the way to Sergeant effortlessly and in record time. He had served his country for almost five years, done two tours in Korengal, The Valley of Death, successfully led and completed countless missions all over Afghanistan, a handful in Iraq too, earning himself several medals in the process. Aside from multiple Presidential Unit Citations and Valorous Unit Awards, the most notable individual honors of his gallantry being two purple hearts and a Distinguished Service Cross, the latter of which had been bestowed on him for putting his own life at risk to save those of two comrades whilst he was under heavy fire and gravely injured himself.

In other words: the man whom she had believed to be a scalawag who didn’t deserve the jump to the elite Intelligence Unit was not just an Army veteran; he was a highly decorated war hero. And his achievements didn’t even end there. Because once he’d been sent off with an honorable discharge for medical reasons, he had wasted next to no time extending his service by committing himself to the Chicago Police Department. He’d aced the courses, graduated top of his academy class and been promoted to detective in less than a year. There were a few recommendations from previous superiors too, all of them speaking highly of him, appraising his loyalty, determination and outstanding performance on the job. The young man’s curriculum vitae was nothing short of impressive.

After reading all this, Trudy Platt felt tremendous amounts of remorse. How could she have been so mistaken about Halstead? How could she have allowed herself to jump to conclusions without giving him the benefit of the doubt? It irrefutably irked her, rankled her even more when she remembered his reaction, the way he so easily swallowed the bitter pill of her deliberately disrespectful attitude. Sure, modesty was a virtue, but his level of humbleness flat out bordered on despondency. Though, with his many achievements he shouldn’t have a reason to be despondent. Wherever that dejection came from, it was highly unlikely that it had its roots in his work history.

Unfortunately, that was all the records provided her with, personal information nowhere to be found. She’d just have to resort to her old, beloved ways of waiting and watching for clues, maybe provoking and poking the hornet’s nest. She’d have to challenge her inner Sherlock for this one, but she was sure it would pay off. Trudy Platt would solve the mystery that was Jay Halstead.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! May 2021 be a better year than the last one, a little less excitement, a little less political uproar, and whole lot more Chicago PD. But above all: health. That's the most important thing right now. I planned on writing a whole New Year's speech here, but I'm beyond exhausted right now - it's midnight over here and I have to get up in like five hours for my shift - so I'm just going to leave it at that.
> 
> I want to gift you this second part of the story before I went to bed, though. I know I said this was going to be a two-shot, but as I polished this supposedly last part, I added too many things and it was too long to post it as a whole once again, so now this is going to be a three-shot instead. Sorry not sorry. (I know some of you will be very pleased to hear that though.)
> 
> By the way, huge thanks for that great response to the first part. I was blown away by all your kind feedback!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> By the way, huge thanks for that great response to the first part. I was blown away by your feedback! Enjoy.

Halstead’s woeful chortles to her chill welcome stuck with Trudy Platt. So much so that in her head she started to refer to him as Chuckles, for she witnessed and was on the receiving end of many of those vulnerably bashful sniggers. Though it took a good three weeks into his stint up in Intelligence for her to outright call him by this freshly awarded moniker for the first time.

It was a Saturday, the little and big hand of the clock on the wall soon to align and ring in the beginning of Sunday. The seconds ticked by mockingly as she let her eyes roam around the foyer from behind her desk. Despite the late hour, the twenty-first district was buzzing with noise and a vast number of patrol officers who were forced into overtime as per Hank Voight’s request and her execution of said directive. All of them were tired, but nevertheless dedicated to help with the investigation of the precinct’s flagship division.

They were working a time-sensitive case, which they had initially believed to be a kidnapping of two young children – siblings, two boys, aged eight and ten. The assumption made sense at first. As the sons of the CEO of a multi-million-dollar tech company they were easy targets to be held hostage in exchange for money. But for reasons that were beyond his coworkers, Halstead wasn’t so convinced about it being an abduction. He had voiced his doubts from the minute they had taken on this case. However, he hadn’t been able to explain his qualms other than his instincts telling him so, which was why Voight had smothered his plea to explore a different angle. On the surface, Jay had surrendered, but in his head the wheels had already been in overdrive, hypothesizing.

As the investigation progressed it became more and more apparent that this wasn’t an attempt to take the millionaire to the cleaners after all. Two hours after the children had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth a ransom demand had yet to be made. That alone should have been a giveaway. And yet, it took finding the dead body of the businessman’s wife for them to look at the case from a fresh perspective and listen to Halstead’s suspicions. Jay’s theory: the kids might have seen their mother’s murder and ran away in a panic, the killer, or killers, likely already on their tails with pure intent to silence the unexpected witnesses. Evidence pointed in the same direction, causing Hank to begrudgingly admit – and maybe be a tad impressed as well – that the newest member of his unit might be onto something.

Searching for the kids had become an even higher priority then, the race against the clock really picking up speed and all available officers were called in to assist, their only gain in the pursuit to be had by Jay connecting the dots before anyone else had even given the alternative a thought.

Unfortunately, thirty hours into the search, there was still no trace of the siblings. Intelligence was growing restless, so was the precinct, all of them aware how dire the situation was. All of them knowing that with every passing minute finding the children alive was less and less likely. Voight’s unit worked tirelessly, none of them willing to go home until the kids were safely reunited with their father. Dawson and Willhite, both having young children of their own, pushed especially hard to solve the case. But their relentlessness was no match for the feverish determination of the youngest detective. The brunette was beavering away with a grit that didn’t go by unnoticed by anyone, not by Trudy either since every time new hints drizzled in about possible sightings of the boys, Jay Halstead was the first to breeze past her desk and out the door to follow up on them.

Platt was on the phone when the man in question, along with Antonio, returned from scouting out one of such auspicious locations. From the frustrated scowls on both their faces, the desk sergeant could easily tell that it had been yet another unsuccessful hunt. However, with a rather disgruntled and, from the sounds of it, possibly inebriated male bellowing down the landline, impatiently demanding to speak to no other than the young detective who had just walked through the door, she had no time to dwell on it. She was more than ready to pass the receiver off. Less than a minute of talking to the man and she already felt the strong desire to crawl through the phone and strangle him with the cord for his disrespectful tone. If she had to listen to him a minute longer, she might just end up the first person on earth to execute this impossible deed.

“Chuckles,” she called, snapping her fingers in the detective’s general direction, repeating it more rigorously when he didn’t react in any way. “Hey, Chuckles, come here!” Whilst still not grasping his attention, she at least managed to catch his companion’s. The Puerto Rican bumped the younger man’s biceps with the back of his hand, effectively slowing his steps. Jay regarded him with a perplexed frown, Antonio answering with a mere jerk of his head in the desk sergeant’s general direction. Hesitantly, the brunette turned on his heel. In his three plus weeks of working in the twenty-first he had discovered that nothing good came from Platt summoning him. Hence his circumspection and reluctance to join her at the front desk. Slanting his head with a questioning look, he pointed a finger at himself as if to ask, ‘who, me?’ without having to verbalize it. “No, the horde of dog apes across the street. Yes you, dummy. Do you see anyone else here?” she rebuffed irritably, anxious to get rid of the phone already.

Jay pursed his lips and grinded his teeth hard, exaggeratedly throwing his arms up in the air. He was so not in the mood to fight a never-ending, oh so futile battle with a woman who seemed to have made it her mission to make his life miserable. Not today. Not today of all days and not when there were two little boys missing, all alone and scared to death after watching their mother slaughtered right before their very eyes. The case was as ill-timed as it possibly could be, putting him on edge in a frenzied way.

On top of that he really was at the end of his rope here, was out of ideas as how to deal with one Trudy Platt. No matter what he said or did, he’d never be able to please her and she’d never ever tolerate him. So, to hell with being friendly. To hell with trying to appease her. And to hell with being respectful. He was ready to let his Irish temper take over for once.

Arms still in midair, he raised his eyebrows incredulously, motioning at the two or three dozen officers she could have potentially referred to with the rather nondescript moniker. He opened his mouth, took a deep opening breath, ready to unleash his frustration. But just as he was about to launch into it, she cut him off with a snort and a roll of her eyes. “Jeez, don’t get your boxer shorts or briefs or whatever it is you wear in a twist, Chuckles.” Halstead was visibly seething, lips firmly pressed together as he protruded his chin. Eyebrows knitted, he glared at her, the usual velvety Maui blue of his irises a stormy sea of grey. The desk sergeant sobered instantly. She didn’t outright apologize but softened her gaze as well as her tone as she realized that she had picked the wrong day to rile him up. “There’s a call for you,” she stated. Covering the mouthpiece with her free hand, she extended a warning, voice rather contrite. “Whoever this is, be advised: he’s not a happy camper.”

Somehow the young detective deflated and tensed up at the same time. He dropped his arms to his side, but his jaw remained locked tight, mouth a thin line as he nodded tersely. A deep crease formed on his forehead as he took the device from her outstretched hand. “Detective Halstead,” he greeted in a clipped voice. His previously fiery eyes, now dulled and weary, were still trained on Platt, his gaze quizzical and biding. Trudy read the entreaty off his face, thus granted him the illusion of privacy by retreating to the other end of the front desk. Nevertheless, she unobtrusively observed from the periphery of her vision as she listened to his side of the conversation, her curiosity peaked. She had to admit, this was a wonderful opportunity to gather new pieces to the puzzle that was this intriguing army ranger turned cop.

Watching him closely, she noticed multiple signs of distress: Halstead almost immediately stood up straighter, his grip on the phone tightening enough to turn his knuckles white while his left hand clenched into a fist. He dug his nails into his palm, quite obviously trying to resist the urge to fidget or hide the nervous tremor. He sounded stressed as well when he spoke, though he did a great job trying to cover it up. “Why are you calling the precinct and not my personal phone? … I didn’t- … hold on, let me check.” Jay retrieved his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, realizing that the display refused to turn on. “Sorry, phone’s dead, forgot to charge it. Been on a case all day,” he supplied meekly as he tugged the mobile into his pouch again.

Slightly disappointed by the so far boring chat, Platt was tempted to tune out, and she probably would have if the next part hadn’t captured her interest. “Yes, I’m aware of the date. I haven’t forgotten, how could I? … No, I … I wanted to be there, and I would have been, but…” While the words raised quite a few questions, the desk sergeant was more intrigued by the variety of emotions his words carried. There was seeming indifference, pensive glumness, and desperate self-justification all at once, and it gradually grew into a sort of exasperated desolation as the conversation continued. “I just told you I’m working a case… What? What the-? Are you kidding me right now? You’re such a…”

Multiple heads turned into his direction as his voice steadily rose, and Trudy allowed herself to glance up at the detective as well, regarding him with an impassive look. Their gazes met briefly, and she could have sworn a flash of panic crossed his features, but he averted his eyes quickly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He wiped a hand over his face, rested it above his mouth for a moment as he quieted himself enough to continue the call. “You’re such a hypocrite, dad,” he finished his earlier sentence in a subdued hiss. Over the noise in the buzzing entry hall Platt had to strain her ears to catch his near whisper. But she caught it, nonetheless, the revelation of the caller’s identity truly coming as a shock to her. If she had been enthralled before, she was now giddily hanging onto every word.

Jay pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a calming breath, silently counting to five. “Look, I don’t want to fight. … Dad, is there another reason you called? Because if there isn’t, I really need to get back to work.” He grinded his teeth, his jaw working minutely as listened to whatever was being said on the other end of the line. “Have you just listened to me, dad? I’m working!” he forced out, his annoyance evident to anyone snooping. “No, I can’t just drop everything because your too drunk to drive.” His voice rose once more but he restrained himself before anyone noticed. Anyone but Trudy, that was. “Just call a Goddamn cab like normal people do. Or better yet, walk. … It’s like three blocks! … I’m not your- …”

He broke off mid-sentence when he was suddenly met with static. For a few long seconds, the brunette gaped at the receiver accusingly, as if the device were at fault for the abrupt end of the call, then placed it back on the cradle. He might have used just a little more force than necessary when he did. Raising his right hand to his face, he pressed the thumb and index finger into his eyes hard, then dragged the flattened appendage down his cheek. Leaning forward, he perched his elbows on the wooden surface, clasping his hands and letting his head rest against them for a minute, thumbs massaging his creased forehead.

Platt was surprised by his open display of disquiet, noticed the imperceptive tremor in his intertwined fingers and the twitch of the coiled muscles in his neck. All the signs were telling enough that the call had rattled the young man, though Platt was missing vital pieces to fully understand why.

Eventually, he pushed himself up, catching her scrutinizing glare as he did. Squaring his shoulders, he masked his unease with one of those pitifully nervy chuckles, complete with a self-conscious scratch of the back of his neck. “Eavesdropping on me, Sarge?” he asked, trying to sound casual and collected but failing miserably, his tone shaky instead, filled with trepidation and that ever-present weariness. Trudy held his blue-green eyes with greenish-brown, face impassively blank as she shook her head.

“Didn’t have to,” she stated matter-of-factly, no trace of emotion in her voice. She observed him carefully, for the first time that night getting a glimpse of his face and boy, did Halstead look exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes stood out in stark contrast to his light complexion, making her wonder when he had last slept and whether those deep lines of fatigue could really be attributed to the harrowing case Intelligence had been working for the past two days. She highly doubted it. In fact, she was certain that the call contributed to it, his barely concealed irritation with the caller speaking for itself. If only she’d been privy to the other side of the conversation; alas, without it, his side remained rather cryptic. For a second, she debated prying it out of him, but knew that the brunette was already cautious around her. With how she treated him, she’d be the last person he’d disclose private information to. Platt couldn’t even blame him.

Whilst she tried to unveil the mystery, Jay tried to pull himself together, heaving a lengthy sigh as he meticulously erected his usual stoic façade, upholding the image of a purely professional detective that he’d painted for everyone at the twenty-first. He hoped, he hadn’t tainted his reputation with his small outburst, kicked himself for raising his voice in an open space for numerous officers and one certain desk sergeant to hear. But he’d been on his feet since six o’clock the previous morning, almost two days of wakefulness preceded by a night of tossing and turning. His momentary slip of self-control was understandable, wasn’t it? After all, he was running on empty, in desperate need of a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But honestly, who was he kidding? Sleep was the least thing on his mind. What he really needed was to find the two missing kids and the reassurance that they made it home alive and safe, preferably unharmed too. And once he had accomplished that, the first thing he would allow himself was to mourn the fact that for the first time since her passing he hadn’t been able to sit by his mother’s grave on the day of her anniversary. He would make up for that by spending his off-hours after this case right there. Maybe he’d even let some regret wash over him for being so dismissive of his father on the phone. Though that was more of a ‘probably not’; it wasn’t like the old man deserved an apology. Huffing cynically, Jay plastered a smile that looked more like a pained grimace on his face, slapped the desk counter with his flat palm, turned and walked away without saying anything in return.

Platt watched his retreating back, the tension in his shoulders, and the heavy footsteps as he lumbered up the stairs, only tearing her eyes away once he vanished behind the metal gate. Letting her gaze roam, she zoomed in on Dawson’s cropped black hair in the crowd of patrol officers, the older detective apparently in the middle of cluing them in on the current progress of the case. As the cops dispersed in every which way, she waved him over with a wave of her head and leaned across the counter as far as the sturdy desk allowed. She waited for him to copy her stance to keep their chat private from the prying ears of too many nosy beat cops. “What’s up, Sarge?” Antonio asked in a semi-hushed tone, slightly perturbed by their secrecy.

Not missing one beat, she asked upfront what was on her mind. “What do you know about Halstead’s home life?” The Latino frowned, then squinted his eyes and pulled the corners of his mouth down in concentration. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head imperceptibly. She tilted her head in exaggerated disbelief. “You’ve known him before you brought him to Intelligence, have you not?” He nodded nonchalantly; one eyebrow cocked. “So, you must know something. C’mon, Antonio, think,” she demanded, and Dawson looked like he was making a real effort to wrack his brain yet seemed genuinely clueless.

Holding up his hands and lifting one shoulder apologetically, he retorted, “I sparred with him in the boxing gym a couple times, yeah, but he’s usually focused on working out, doesn’t really talk much. He mentioned growing up in Canaryville once but that’s honestly all I know.” The detective rubbed a finger across his forehead and puckered his lips slightly. “Halstead’s keeps it all business and professional. He’s rather closed off when it comes to personal stuff. But then again, he’s only been here for a few weeks, so maybe that’s just because he’s still new to the unit.” Trudy contemplated this but doubted that this was the sole reason for the young man’s guardedness. Left eye twitching, Antonio pressed, “Why do ask? Is this about the phone call?”

The desk sergeant debated whether she should let him in on what she’d overheard but decided against it for now. Twisting her face into a glower, she shook her head dismissively, waving him off with one hand. “Oh, no particular reason. Simply curious is all.” Dawson pulled his head back enough to create a double chin and raised his eyebrows skeptically, very clearly not buying her fake insouciance. Trudy knew he’d call her out on her little white lie in a second – they had been patrolling together for almost two years after all, therefore he knew her well – but just as he was about to open his mouth to remind her of just that, she was saved by the bell, or rather his longtime partner.

“We’ve got a location, seems legit this time. Someone saw two suspects grab two terrified and lost kids in Bridgeport five minutes ago. We gotta go, like, right now,” Willhite rattled off, slightly out of breath and face flushed from running down the stairs in dizzying speed. Dawson shared a fleeting look with the desk sergeant, already halfway backing out the door as he did. Trudy caught the anxious hope and fierce determination in his eyes, along with the promise that they wouldn’t be back until they nailed the monsters who had dared to kill a mother of two in cold blood, right in front of her young children. This was the priority for now. Solving her mystery could wait.

…

It wasn’t until late into the night, or rather early morning the following day, one of the offenders in custody, the other cold and in the beginning stages of rigor mortis as he was chauffeured to the morgue, that Intelligence made it back to the district. All of them were exhausted but an air of relief surrounding them. One by one they seeped through the door, their only objective to grab their things from upstairs before they headed home, case reports to be done on Monday. Despite her own tiredness, Platt realized that one member was decidedly missing. She found herself both curious and concerned. According to the radio calls it had been a mostly clean takedown. No-one was injured except for the one perpetrator, who had stupidly attempted to shoot his way out. It had resulted in him catching a bullet between the eyes, courtesy of Olinsky’s sniper rifle, luckily before the scumbag had gotten a shot off himself.

Therefore, there was no logical explanation why Jay Halstead hadn’t come back to the district with the rest of them. Clearly, he hadn’t been injured. She’d have heard it over dispatch.

“Hey, Al, hold up,” Trudy called out to the seasoned detective. He was the last to enter through the large double doors, just about to ascend the stairs and the only one still within earshot. The desk sergeant waited for him to acknowledge her, then casually asked the burning question that was on her mind. “Where’s Chuckles?” She shuffled the papers on her desk around with no particular purpose other than the need to keep her hands busy. Meanwhile, the covert expert retracted his booted foot from the bottom step and detoured back towards the front desk, strides stealthy, almost catlike.

When he was a mere two feet away from her, he tilted his head questioningly, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing subtly. “Chuckles?” he repeated quietly, leaning against the sturdy wood, left arm resting on top as he crossed his feet at the ankles. “Assuming we’re talking about Halstead here?” Arching an eyebrow at him, she lolled her head in every which way incredulously. The corner of Al’s mouth twitched slightly, a humorous twinkle dancing in his eyes. “The boys needed to be checked out at the hospital. He went with them, didn’t want to leave them alone,” he explained simply.

Olinsky’s voice was quiet and even and mostly devoid of emotion, but a hint of something that Platt couldn’t immediately place wafted through as well. An equally unreadable expression spread across his face as his dark brown eyes turned almost black. Leaving the papers be for a second, the desk sergeant frowned at her longtime friend. “Their father didn’t meet them there?” she inquired, confused and saddened by that little detail. She’d had to deal with the businessman a few times in the past two days, and she had been under the impression that he was terrified for his sons, desperate to hold them both in his arms again. For all she had seen, he was the kind of man who would always put his children first, no matter how successful he was.

“He did, but Halstead was adamant to stay with the family for a while,” Al licked his lips, eyes taking on a faraway look as he reminisced about the conversation between the young detective and Voight earlier. “Kid said something about knowing how hard it is to lose a mother, and that he wanted to make sure their father was capable of dealing with his sons’ grief on top of mourning the loss of his own wife,” the seasoned detective elaborated. He pulled his hat off and dragged a calloused hand over his receding hairline all the way to the long curls at the back of his head, then put the beanie back on, tucking the top of it into the seam.

Upon hearing this, Platt dropped the sheets of paper she’d busied herself with, abandoning them on the counter. One could almost hear the penny dropping and the cogs turning in her head as she connected the puzzle pieces to her little pet project which she had obtained over the last couple days. Jay’s persistence throughout the case, his unusually frazzled and emotional state suddenly making so much sense: The missing children had lost their mom, Halstead apparently had too, and judging by the phone call, yesterday’s date must have been somewhat related to her death. _‘I’m aware of the date. I haven’t forgotten, how could I?’_ He’d covered well, but there had been a hidden raw pain in them, and she had seen a gloss of tears in his eyes as he had said those words. But it had been so fleeting that she had dismissed it right away.

His circumstances were quite possibly completely different from those of the boys, but all of it combined, the case, the date, the phone call, it was bound to dredge up unpleasant memories. Hence his trouble to keep his countenance earlier that night. Thinking back to her own short yet repulsive exchange with the detective’s father over the phone, Trudy couldn’t shake the feeling that Chuckles’ strong desire to make sure the children’s father was there for them might be the result of not having that same kind of support himself. What an awful thought.

The usual toughness in her features melted away, heart constricting empathetically. When Platt looked at her opposite, she found Olinsky studying her intensely, instantly reminded that the seasoned detective knew her long enough to read her emotions like and open book. He offered a knowing smile, faint and as sad as she felt, nodding ever so slightly to let her know, he too had noticed that the case had hit the Intelligence rookie especially hard. Trudy cleared her throat. “How’s Halstead doing up there?” she found herself asking then, the lack of use of Jay’s nickname a blatant sign of just how disturbed she was by the news.

Al rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin as he contemplated her unobtrusively. “The kid’s doing good,” he started. Great instincts, quick on his feet, quite the shooter, too.” Olinsky slanted his head, deep in thought. “Kid’s smart. Got guts, and hell of a lot of compassion. He’s a real asset, brings a vast variety of skills to the team. I have a feeling we haven’t even seen a fraction of what he’s really capable of,” he went on, his admiration for Jay prominent in his voice despite the equanimous tone. Trudy had to admit, she was astounded by that, the older man usually wasn’t so quick to hand out high praise. “Honestly, I haven’t seen a detective this young with so much potential in my entire career. If anyone ever is, he is the definition of Intelligence.”

Platt remained silent as she processed all this, feeling Olinsky’s piercing eyes on her. His right eyelid twitched with amusement and his dark orbs shone with fatherly affection as he watched her reaction. Scratching the thicker patch of beard at the corner of his mouth and dragging the nail of his finger through it, he snickered shrewdly. “You know, Trudy,” he paused, bowing his head, his gaze glued on a vein in the wood of the counter. “Before today I thought you didn’t like the kid, despised him even. But now I got the impression that was never really the case. You’ve grown rather fond of him, haven’t you?” Her eyes widened in shock over being found out and she was ready to defend herself. Al laughed lightheartedly at her appalled expression. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Trudy.”

On impulse she readied herself to round the corner and punch him for his remark, but the senior detective predicted it and moved away quickly, holding his hands up placatively as he backed up the stairs. “Oh, and Trudy?” he called from the landing a couple seconds later. She tilted her head in mild annoyance. “Very fitting nickname for the kid, by the way.” He winked at her, making a clicking sound with his tongue. Platt merely huffed, not entirely sure whether her old friend was trying to make fun of her or meant what he said.

Left alone in the foyer, she found herself in an emotional limbo between upset and wonder over everything she had learned about the young man whom she had initially marked down as a shallow, good-for-nothing sleazebag. The young man who proved to be the contrary of that time and again. Instead of substantiating her prejudice, Jay Halstead became a more and more complex character with every detail that was revealed to her. Someone, who had seen death and destruction in-country. Someone, who had earned stripes and medals for his heroism. And now someone, who had apparently suffered terrible heartbreak at home, too. The junior detective was someone, who had been beaten down by life and all its ugliness but was strong and resilient enough to use his experiences to make the world a better place. All his pain had given him more than enough reason to become bitter and resentful. How he managed to withstand that and turn his anguish into something good was truly something to marvel at.

Chuckles remained a mystery; dribs and drabs of information not at all helping in clearing the fog that surrounded him, but rather thickening it. Trudy Platt couldn’t for the life of her figure him out. Nevertheless, she would just keep on trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part will be the last one, and then it's back to writing 'The Birth of Worlds', I promise.
> 
> Have a good night or day! Stay safe and healthy!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay of this final installment. 
> 
> A lot has been happening in real life. For one, both my parents are quarantined after testing positive for Covid last week and I had to supply them with food and stuff. I've been struggling and dealing with some other things too. Essentially, I haven't had time at all to sit down and polish of this final installment, and the rarer occasions I did, I was either too tired or not in the right mindset. Strangely enough, a bout of insomnia allowed me to finally finish this.
> 
> The ending sucks, I might change it up later because I'm not satisfied with it but it's 4:30 am right now and I have no idea when I'll have the time to write again, so I figured I'd just post this, so here you go. Enjoy.
> 
> Italics in air quotes are lines from actual episodes.

Part III

Weeks went by, months even, and with officers and cases coming and going Trudy’s private investigation had to take a backseat for a while. No real opportunities came along to dig deeper into Chuckles’ personal affairs either. The only way to obtain the occasional puzzle piece was through the grapevine of the twenty-first or by watching his reactions to her jabs here and there. But what was thrown at him in hopes of provoking a revealing response mostly just reinforced the mystification surrounding him. The one and only Jay Halstead refused to leave her with any meaningful breadcrumbs. Instead, he became an equilibrist of sorts in dodging her razor-sharp bullets. In other words: he remained a conundrum.

In the end, it was inevitable that over time a routine set in between the desk sergeant and the enigmatic detective. Their recurring procedure went a little bit like this: Platt, in true fashion, continued handing out her witticisms. It was her natural way of communicating with all her work acquaintances after all; besides, she had a reputation to uphold. However, her snarky remarks lost some of their punch, a vast amount of them flattened to roughly the same level as those she riled up her patrol officers with. Direct, honest, biting, yet overall harmless and coming from a place of affection. Though she’d never admit to that last one.

Meanwhile, Chuckles grew accustomed to her taunting. He easily sidestepped anything that might struck too personal, carefully avoided those daring inquiries into parts of his life that weren’t work-related, deflecting with lopsided grins, mocking frowns and pouty lips, sometimes just a single cocked eyebrow.

His facial play was something to marvel at. Unbelievably expressive and captivating and probably something that he fell back on a lot whenever he went undercover. What drew her in most about the mimic ricochets was the fact that they were almost always accompanied by one of those sounds that had inspired his moniker in the first place. Trudy realized there was a whole assortment of those, ranging from soft chortles and bashful giggles to sheepish teehees all the way to derisive sniggers and even baying guffaws. However, they all had one thing in common, much rather all lacked one factor: levity. Even the rare startling hearty belly laughs and the sarcastic crowns – she was never on the receiving end of either because Jay was too timid around her for the former, too respectful for the latter, but she had witnessed them when he was with elect coworkers – sounded leery, hollow, sorrowful even. They weren’t blithe and unburdened as they should have been, the observation saddening her tremendously.

Nevertheless, the hints of self-consciousness she had picked up on repeatedly in his primal weeks with Intelligence evaporated to being basically nonexistent. At least on the outside. If Halstead was still as intimidated by her offhanded comments as he had been in the beginning, then he did a remarkable job of covering it up. Working in an elite unit certainly did him some good in the confidence department. Evident in the fact that on scarce days he even braved being sassy to Platt in return, the first time of that happening having stumped her quite a lot. That lip really suited him, gave him a youthful jauntiness, a childlike innocence, a boyish radiance that he seemed to have been robbed of way too early in life otherwise. She was admittedly thrilled to see the gloomy and reserved detective come out of his shell and crack open just a bit more around her too.

Alas, in her eagerness to tickle his backtalk out of him, she got too cocky and pushy sometimes. She let especially tactless jibes slip off her tongue, was just a tad extra cynical, and because this was a well-practiced decadelong approach of hers, she always hit her mark with precision and candor. And with that, she unintentionally ripped Jay’s recently acquired poise away from him again, two occurrences residing prominently in Platt’s mind. Two instances where she deliberately questioned his competence and prodded at his insecurities just because she hoped she could use these moments of carefreeness and openness to pry some private information from someone who couldn’t possibly keep his life outside of work any closer to the vest.

One of those occasions was roughly a year after the brunette’s transfer to the twenty-first, shortly after Jin had been murdered. She had scoffed a derogatory shaft when she handed him an envelope that had wrongfully ended up at the twenty-eighth and sat there for an entire six weeks before it was forwarded to the correct district. Of course, this minor detail hadn’t slipped his perceptive eye. Yet she couldn’t help but mock him about pointing out the obvious. – “ _W_ _ow, that is some real detective work right there.”_ – Weariness claimed his eyes in a jiff, just a glimpse of it to be seen by her before he turned away wordlessly. If it had been physically possible Trudy would have kicked herself in the butt for her comment. Since it wasn’t, she settled for throwing her pen onto the desk with an annoyed huff.

Undermining his rank was the worst possible way of yanking his chain, the lowest blow she could have resorted to. The desk sergeant remembered quite clearly the dejection on his face the first time around, and sure enough his expression this time was a déjà vu to their first encounter. She’d inferred back then just how important it was to him that people acknowledged this specific achievement of his. That’s right, his achievement, not so much the title. Because a title could very easily be acquired by passing a lousy exam, but it would only be an achievement once proven time and again that it was deserved as well. He’d done that and he wanted people to know that he wasn’t just a detective on paper but also could be trusted to dutifully carry out all the responsibilities that came with it. And then some.

Platt had been just as insensitive a few weeks later when she had put her own two cents into a squabble between Halstead and Lindsay as they bet on who would get the most shots in their imminent mandatory firearms requalification. The banter was pointless right from the start, Jay’s chances of winning way better than Erin’s. And yet – _“I got my money on you, girl.”_ – she couldn’t help but throw in, thereby basically invalidating his excellent marksmanship, such a prime-conditioned skill of his that it had earned the former ranger the highest recognition there was for it: an Army Expert Marksmanship Badge. She’d learned that the guy never rubbed his military training under anyone’s nose. In fact, she was certain that aside from Intelligence and her, less than a handful of people in the district were even privy to it.

However, something told her that his look of defeat wasn’t even related to her trivializing his proficiencies. She’d seen multiple times how Chuckles displayed the need to constantly impress his female partner, to demonstrate to her that he was very much her equal. Why he would feel that way was beyond Trudy, but she assumed it must have something to do with trying to get on Voight’s good side or Erin emphasizing her superiority due to being in the unit longer. Either way, Platt busting his balls right in front of her, boosting the female officer’s ego in the process, probably wasn’t helping matters. The young woman might have a bunch of insecurities of her own, but as Hank’s surrogate daughter she already received more than enough privileges and encouragement, perhaps more than anyone else in the district.

Just how much her inconsiderate ridicules affected Halstead was obvious in his partially annoyed but mostly crestfallen expressions afterwards. It was astonishing and tremendously disturbing at once how her words had the power to instantly wipe away any traces of confidence and melt it into diffidence and self-doubt. A substantial pang of guilt stabbed through her heart every time because his responses showed her that despite her treating him terribly, he apparently cared a whole lot about what she thought of him. For reasons unbeknownst to her, he wanted her approval. Yet, she denied it every single time. She felt ashamed that not once did she make the effort to stop him from walking away defeated and dispirited, without ever uttering a word in his defense. Without ever trying to justify his accomplishments, his existence.

The poor young man must have been kicked while he was down so many times in his life that he didn’t even bother with it anymore for he knew the boot would inevitably be put in anyway. And what did she do? Exactly that. Put the boot in.

As much as Platt liked to convince herself, it wasn’t pride that stopped her from apologizing. It wasn’t her reputation of a sarcastic, tough-as-nails, hardheaded desk sergeant either. No, there was just one sole reason. One reason that she didn’t even want to acknowledge herself because it meant having to get in touch with her own deepest darkest emotions. Jay Halstead, the Goddamn vulnerable soul had the uncanny ability to worm himself into her heart and stir up those maternal instincts that every woman was supposedly bestowed with but usually only surfaced once a woman became a mother herself. She wasn’t a mother, though, therefore she wasn’t designed to feel this way. Maybe it was the lack of children of her own, maybe it was the fact that she was in a way his superior, but Trudy didn’t know how or if to deal with those strange impulses to be affectionate towards and overprotective of the young man. Thus, she buried them deep within, refused to face them much less act them out. In a nutshell: she was afraid and admitting that to herself was frightening enough for someone who was as emotionally detached as a coffee grinder.

Nevertheless, she swore to herself that one of these days she would tell Chuckles how sorry she was. One of these days she would treat him with the respect and adoration that he deserved. One of these days she might even tell him that she cared about him like she cared about all her officers. She just hoped that by then it wouldn’t be too late already. But until then, she’d just search for and collect the missing pieces that would hopefully someday complete the puzzle of Jay Halstead. Little did she know that not one but two sources with a whole bunch of scattered pieces would present themselves eighteen months into her longtime investigation.

…

“Greg Gerwitz,” she read off the top of the application form and glanced at the young man over the rim of her reading glasses. He confirmed with a timid smile which was more of a nervous twitch of the corner of his mouth when he corrected her by revealing his nickname. Good, that saved her the trouble of figuring one out for herself. _“So,”_ she started, wetted her fingertip before turning the page on the stapled stack of papers, _“you’re a ranger.”_ Trudy studied him intensely, narrowed her eyes just a fraction as he rattled off something about doing two tours in Afghanistan and being thankful that the Army allowed him to pursue his dreams in the Chicago Police Department. His yadda-yadda was apparently something he’d practiced quite a few times before he came here, something Platt would usually roll her eyes at, but for Mouse this seemed to be a strategy to get his stutter under control. He wasn’t entirely successful in hiding it, but then again, she didn’t know how pronounced it would have been if he’d come here unprepared.

Watching this mousy – huh, what an unintentional but well-fitting pun – figure sitting opposite her, it was rather hard to believe that this man had fought alongside and was a close friend of Halstead. The skinny brunette in his slightly too big striped sweater was not at all the kind of person she would have associated with Jay, much less the military for that matter. Unlike the mysterious detective, Gerwitz’ time overseas had bequeathed him with quite the hodge-podge of war-related souvenirs in form of obvious symptoms of posttraumatic stress. Despite his memorized speech he continuously drifted off mid-sentence, zoned out, was unable to hold her gaze for longer than a few fleeting seconds. Then there was the stammering and the constant twitching and fidgeting with his hands. There probably were more, but those last two she was stuck on because she had seen them before.

Jay was an excellent actor when he wanted to be, there was no denying that. And unless someone had access to his service records and was a skilled observer too, no one would ever suspect that the young detective carried quite a selection of residual mental scars from his time in-country himself. Trudy was one of only two people in this building with enough clearance to get a basic overview of the kind of operations and missions Halstead had been running, and while most of his file was blackened out, it was enough to paint the picture that his Army days hadn’t been pretty.

Her eye for detail added the rest. She’d noticed some of those physical signs, even if they were extremely rare. They appeared after especially cruelling cases, usually involving children or military personnel, and nerve-wracking firefights. Chuckles would return to the precinct with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans or jacket to hide a barely noticeable tremor. And while he was a quiet guy in general, when he was shaken up about something he’d basically morph into a mute. If forced to talk under those circumstance, there tended to a miniscule wobbly staccato in between words as he staggered and stumbled through sentences.

Up to this point, Platt had merely put it down to stress, but with his army buddy sitting right in front of her, slightly oily hair plastered to his scalp as well as sunken in eyes and cheeks that spoke of sleepless nights and deficient nourishment, she realized that maybe there was more to it in the detective’s case as well. Affirmation came with the answer to her inquiry regarding his medical discharge. – _“Um, well there was a… there was a convoy and um, I was in the, uh, the lead Humvee. It was me and Jay actually, um, um…”_ – The desk sergeant might not have learned anything substantial about the details of the incident. She did, however, realize in that moment, why Halstead was so incredibly secretive about his time in the rangers.

As Mouse trailed off during his recount of the events that were clearly upsetting enough for him to completely check out, Trudy knew that poking the bear wasn’t the right approach here. Some cans of worms shouldn’t ever be opened and in this case, it was undeniably better to let sleeping dogs lie. So, she let Greg off the hook. – _“Hey, we’re good.”_

Truth be told, the desk sergeant was a bit irked to let that specific ship sail for it would have explained a lot about the man who wouldn’t stop surprise her with his complexity. But at the same time, she knew it was the right choice, the only choice really. Platt might be a bit like a dog with a bone, determined and unyielding, but she wasn’t going to mentally torture someone just to satiate her hunger for solving a mystery. Especially not when the subject in question had already been put through the ringer by everything that they had been through. Besides, she had unquestioningly been provided with more pieces to her puzzle by the man Jay rightfully proclaimed to be a total tech whiz than she had the entire one and a half years leading up to that.

Surprisingly, her concession and willingness to let this opportunity slide, rewarded her with another a mere week later: Will Halstead, thirty-one, apparently an excellent albeit recently fired plastic surgeon from New York, and – one might have guessed it – older brother of Jay Halstead. That last fact came a bit of a shock, not just for the desk sergeant but for everyone in the district. It seemed, no one was in the know that Chuckles even had any siblings. Well, no one other than Chuckles himself. Why he’d keep the fact a secret was yet another conundrum surrounding the near twenty-eight-year-old cop, but it certainly wasn’t hard to deny any familial connection to this man.

Prima facie they wouldn’t pass off as brothers. Whereas the detective’s irises were a punchy Maui blue which carried a lot of sadness and guilt when you looked close enough, the doctor’s eyes were a dark chocolate brown, full of wit and mischief. Whereas the younger man usually sported a little bit of stubble, most likely for the sake of appearing older and being taken more seriously, the older was immaculately clean-shaven. Whereas Chuckle’s held his back in a straight and rigid military posture, Mr. Charming stood at ease in a relaxed slouch. They were about the same height and they had the same nose and slightly angular face, but that alone didn’t reveal their shared genes. Even the Irish roots shone through in completely different ways. One could identify those from a mile away in Will, his ginger hair rather obvious. It wasn’t as palpable in Jay, though. In the proximity of a few feet, the many freckles sprinkled across his face couldn’t be missed, but the orange tinge to his five o’clock shadow only came out when the evening sun hit his chin at just the right angle.

But it wasn’t just the physical disparities that Platt noticed. Much rather it was their contrasting personalities. Will Halstead was everything she had expected the young detective to be when she first met him. The redhead was self-assured, easy-going, and amiable. He didn’t seem familiar with the chain of command at all, neither did he know his boundaries very well if his readiness to crack inappropriate jokes was anything to go by. Aside from that, he clearly lacked in the humbleness department, instead thrived in bragging about his medical prowess, was confident every step of the way opposed to Jay’s self-consciousness.

Trudy didn’t know what to make of this. While there was some hesitancy and awkwardness in the way the brothers interacted, she was under the impression that they were quite close, closer than most siblings. Yet, she didn’t miss the little flashes crossing the younger Halstead’s face, a strange mix of bursting pride of the doctor, sorrowful bitterness, and resentful grief. There must have been a few unresolved issues hanging between them for this formidable combination, but she highly doubted either of the two Irish boys would be very forthcoming or honest about those. Slowly but surely, the desk sergeant got the impression that this puzzle wasn’t one she would ever solve. It took on dimensions, uncharted territories that she wasn’t sure she even wanted to tread. Though, she wouldn’t be Trudy Platt if she gave up now, this close to the finish line. She’d figure Jay Halstead out. Just watch her.

…

A supposedly simple undercover buy gone wrong had the power to trigger a multitude of reactions and realizations amongst an entire unit and a few select officers. While some found confirmation of what they had alleged or known all along, others came to an epiphany that one of their own constituted of so much more than what they had thus far believed. They were presented with a whole new assortment of layers to their missing coworker. While they had always respected him, they discovered that they had never given him full credit for everything that he did and gave to the team. He provided them with a skillset none of them possessed, and whenever things got heated, he posed as some sort of calm anchor. With him there, the unit’s solidarity was that much stronger, their raids more efficient. Without him there, they got into quarrels that much faster, and their missions weren’t as tactical, their movements a bit more scattered. Long story short, they became aware that Jay Halstead played a vital role in their well-oiled machine, was not just an essential part that they relied on and trusted, but he was a beyond valuable and irreplaceable member of their group.

Meanwhile, for others, this faux pas served as a well-deserved kick in the behind, a prompt to get their Goddamn shizzle together and stop digging a grave whilst throwing a pity party. For Trudy though, it was a wakeup call to finally admit that the kid had wormed his way into her heart, that she had grown rather fond of him, just like it was a reminder that life was too short to let opportunities pass her by. She needed to apologize to Chuckles for all the chicanery she had put him through in what? Jeez, was it really two years already?

One distinct response to the former ranger’s abduction the entire unit had in common was concern. Ranging from caring disquiet to protective distress, barely concealed anxious terror to raging upset. The desk sergeant’s emotions blended somewhere in between the first two. She wasn’t particularly vocal about her worry for the young man throughout the case – granted, she wasn’t in on the investigation – but even preoccupied with her duties downstairs she was extremely unsettled for the duration of Jay’s captivity in torture.

Afternoon was creeping into early evening when Intelligence arrived back at the district after busting Derek Keyes and rescuing their young detective. Platt was instantly reminded of a case in Halstead’s early days at the twenty-first, when the team minus him marched through those antique front doors, every single one of them looking a variation of stressed and tired but mostly relieved. Despite that, Trudy found herself skeptical of a positive outcome the minute she got a glimpse of Lindsay’s blood-soaked attire. Needless to say, she was shocked, wondered why the woman was here and not in a hospital right now. Erin caught her wide, disbelieving eyes, drawn eyebrows and gaping mouth, and offered what was probably meant as a comforting smile. “It’s not mine,” she reassured her, yet it did nothing to soothe the older female. If it wasn’t hers… “It’s from one of Keyes’ men,” the young detective added, reading her thoughts.

Trudy released a breath. “Good, I’m glad,” she replied, shakier and in a higher octave than her usual alto. The female officer forced another smile, then hurried off towards the locker rooms, leaving the sergeant to compose herself in solitude. Platt was thankful, needed a moment to calm her strangely frazzled nerves before her alluded privacy was invaded once more. She instinctively pulled herself up straighter, took a couple deep breaths and pushed a stray strand of her chin-long hair behind her ear. Stopped when she realized her act wasn’t necessary since the approaching figure was that of someone who would see right through her façade anyway. “Hank,” she greeted as the man in question leaned against the sturdy desk, hands clasped together in front of him. “How’s Halstead?”

A heaved sigh escaped her longtime friend, his pale lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw working minutely. He remained silent for a while, merely held her gaze with compassionate brown eyes, communicating what neither of them could put into words. He sported the same expression she imaged on her own face. That of skyrocketing respect for a beloved member of his team, a member he had ridden unduly hard for the longest time. That of parental affection and concern for a subordinate who had faced unimaginable peril at way too young an age, long before he even started with CPD. That of immense pride in the kid’s strength and resilience throughout this case. It was also the expression of someone who realized that what had transpired in the past twenty-four hours most likely affected the detective in ways neither of them could even fathom.

Realizing that he still had a question to reply to, Voight unclasped his hands and scratched his cheek absentmindedly. “Alive,” was all he revealed, followed by an impossibly lengthy stretch of silence. Platt glared at him, jerking her head impatiently. Hank huffed in dulled amusement, eyes twinkling. “He’s on his way to Med to get checked out, but okay for the most part,” he elaborated gruffly, bopping his head slightly in a repetitive motion, then halted the movement. Closing his eyes, he ultimately changed it to a shake of his head instead. “Well, physically at least.” Trudy tilted her head, features softening with worry immediately. The sergeants shared a knowing look, both aware that mentally was another story. If nothing else, Jay would at the very least face a few nightmares in the next days. “According to his brother, he’ll be kept overnight for observation.” Voight paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “He shouldn’t…”

“…shouldn’t be alone tonight,” she finished for him. Hank nodded his agreement, wiping a hand over the lower half of his face before pulling at his chin. “You have anyone detailed to stay with him? Because if you don’t, I’d be willing to stand guard,” she suggested without second thought, sensing her chance to make up for all the injustices she had subjected Chuckles to over the years. “Mouse might be the logical choice here, considering their history. At the same time, it’s probably best he won’t visit, you know, for the same reason,” she concluded, aware that she was on the verge of rambling, a clear sign of her concern for the well-being of both former rangers.

Voight agreed. “You never know the triggers,” he translated thoughtfully. “Well, lucky for you, both Halsteads specifically asked me not to let Mouse storm the hospital premises. Whatever that means.” The older sergeant chuckled bemusedly, Trudy joining in before they both fell into a reminiscent silence, each stuck in their own thoughts. Hank was the first to recover. “Make sure the kid knows we’re all glad he’s okay and that we have his back. He’s family, no matter how much he pretends he doesn’t need anyone.” The statement squeezed painfully at Platt’s insides for the words held so much truth. At the same time, she was relieved that she wasn’t the only one who noticed Jay’s issues with trust and the way he seemed to think he was on his own. Then there was the blatantly obvious struggle with self-worth, the young man seeming to think he was somehow worth less than the rest of them. That part had her choke up, so she merely nodded timidly in return before busying herself stapling God knew what forms, signaling to her opposite that this conversation was over.

She needed a minute to herself, then finish up her so that she could make sure all her hard work in putting together this puzzle hadn’t been for nothing. That was a lie. She needed to get out of here to make sure Chuckles made it home all the way. Not just a shell of him, not the partial construct either. No, the man in his whole. Completely furnished interior, including decorations, minor defects, specks of dust and all.

…

Chicago Med’s emergency department was buzzing with people when Trudy stepped through the automatic glass doors. Patients and their relatives occupied the waiting room, meanwhile nurses and doctors pitched medical terms back and forth as they rushed sick and injured into empty cubicles. It wasn’t overly hectic, but the sergeant presumed it wasn’t exactly a calm day for Gaffney either. On top of that, she seemed to have stumbled straight into shift change if the vast number of staff in various states of coming or leaving were any indication. Which was why she found herself waiting a little bit longer than usual to be acknowledged by the head nurse.

Leaning against the counter, she tapped her fingers absentmindedly, glancing at her watch occasionally. The nurses took their sweet time, Platt herself slowly growing bored and impatient. Whenever she visited an on-the-job wounded officer under her command, she’d be waved right through, though any other time she was dressed accordingly, her dark blue cap and jacket as well as the star pinned to her white button-up enough to identify her as CPD. She admittedly wasn’t used to being left here standing for so long. Not that she minded. She wasn’t here on official business, considered this more of a social call, and not just a quick drop by, thus had traded her uniform for a more casual attire.

Another fleeting glimpse revealed that more than five minutes had passed already. From the looks of it, the nurses had finished talking business, moving on to the gossiping part of their handover. Trudy rolled her eyes in annoyance. Maybe she should announce her presence after all. She was just about to harrumph in a loud and obtrusive manner when her name was being called from behind. “Sergeant Platt.” Turning around, the desk sergeant came face to face with no other than the wisecrack older brother of the man she came here to see, the redhead approaching with long confident strides, a cocky smile on his lips. “Let me guess, you’re here for Jay?”

Forgoing a greeting or an answer for that matter, the woman merely cocked an eyebrow. Well, duh, who else would she be here for? Will jerked his head in a lopsided nod and grinned sheepishly, aware that it was kind of obvious that she was here to visit his brother. “Which room is he in?” she asked in a no-nonsensical manner, straight to the point as always. As she waited for a reply, she eyed the doctor up and down, noticing he wasn’t wearing his burgundy scrubs but civvies instead, a mint green button-up over a plain black t-shirt and grey chinos, shiny dress shoes completing an overall spick and span appearance that was so different from his younger sibling’s practical, more casual wardrobe. “You headed out?” she concluded.

“Molly’s yeah,” the ginger easily answered the second question, blowing out a lengthy breath and rolling his eyes playfully. “Man, I could really use a drink after the scare Jay gave me,” he laughed a little too cheerfully. Part of Platt understood where that sentiment came from, to some degree even related to it. But the other part of her was shocked that the older Halstead prioritized his own needs over those of his younger brother under the given circumstances. Shouldn’t he be a little less selfish, a little more supportive and empathetic? Tilting her head, Trudy glared at him. The disbelief must have shown on her face because the redhead was suddenly intimidated by her animosity if the nervous shuffle of his feet was anything to go by.

She watched as he rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven chin, then moved it to his forehead, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose in awareness that another question still hung in the air. “Right, Jay, um, he’s in room…” he paused, frowning slightly in realization that he hadn’t paid much attention to the number. Will shook his head self-deprecatingly and dropped the hand to his side. “I’ll show you the way,” he covered his ignorance with fake aplomb and a disarming smile, hazel eyes twinkling with humor. His carefreeness really got on the sergeant nerves by now.

Nevertheless, she fell in step beside him as he motioned for her to follow him down the hall, relieved that at least the doctor walked confidently enough to know where he was going. It was safe to assume that he must have at least visited his younger sibling since he’d been admitted to the hospital. “How’s Chuckle’s doing?” she asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice. While she had been the first to talk to the boy that had brought the tape recording the detective’s torture session, she hadn’t been with Intelligence when they watched the clip. Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to see it. Voight’s more than graphic recount had been enough to make her stomach churn. “What’s the verdict?”

“According to Dr. Choi he has quite the collection of colorful contusions all over, some nasty taser burns on his torso, a few on his back too. Two ribs are cracked, and Dr. Choi was concerned his cheekbone might be fractured but turns out it’s just badly bruised. He does have a grade two concussion though, which is what earned him an overnight stay for observation,” Will licked his lips. “Well, that and they need to keep a look out for arrhythmias and other possible complications from the electrical shocks,” he added, the faintest of wavers in his voice the only sign that he was shaken up by the events after all. “Oh, and he sprained his left wrist. But overall, nothing too serious, just superficial stuff really.” Platt froze mid-step, eyes widening in incredulity. Superficial? Had she just heard right? Noticing his companion wasn’t by his side any longer, the young man slowed and turned around to face her, a reassuring grin plastered on his face. Trudy wanted nothing more than to wipe it off him. “Don’t worry. This is Jay we’re talking about. He’s fine.”

“Fine my ass,” the desk sergeant huffed under her breath, features drawn into an angry scowl, completely taken aback by how unconcerned the older Halstead appeared by this whole ordeal. Just hearing the rundown of Chuckles’ injuries telling a tale of unimaginable torment and suffering he’d endured, the mere concept of it drilling holes into her heart of steel. If she, a measly work acquaintance, felt the kid’s pain so strongly, why didn’t his own flesh and blood? She glanced up at the ginger, took in the confusedly knitted brows but forewent satiating his need for clarification by asking unjudgmentally, “have you seen your brother’s injuries?”

Will shook his head. “I was with a patient when Jay was brought in. Didn’t see him until after they had moved him to a room.” Trudy nodded absentmindedly, his answer shedding at least some light onto why he wasn’t overly worried. If he hadn’t seen the magnitude of the torture Halstead had been subjected to, it was possible that he simply couldn’t comprehend how bad things looked. Granted, neither could she for she hadn’t seen him either, but she had seen the fear and fury in Voight’s eyes right after he had watched that video, and Hank wasn’t one to be easily fazed. Picking up her feet again, she followed the doctor down the corridor, coming to a halt next to the redhead in front of what she assumed was her detective’s residence for the night.

“This is it,” the ginger pointed out unnecessarily. “I gotta warn you, though: don’t expect him to be chatty company right now. I just dropped by ten minutes ago and he sleeps the sleep of the dead. Didn’t even hear me come in.” The desk sergeant highly doubted that. Someone who had been deployed to a perilous warzone for the better part of five years didn’t ‘sleep the sleep of the dead’ as the older sibling so inappropriately put it unless he was exactly that: dead. Especially not after just having been brutalized at the hands of a merciless drug dealer. Quite the contrary, the former ranger would be hypervigilant, overly observant of his surroundings and jumpy at the faintest of unfamiliar noises of which there were plenty in a hustling and bustling hospital. So, if Jay had appeared to be sleeping, he had probably faked it to get out if an awkward interaction with his brother. “I suppose he’s gonna sleep all night, so there’s really no point in staying.”

Platt didn’t want to judge Will – she had done that mistake once already with the younger Halstead and it tainted their relationship ever since – but if the doctor genuinely believed what he had just said, he was either blind or stupid. Or maybe the ginger purposely lived in his rainbow-colored bubble of his because he couldn’t face the brutal reality he might be presented with if he opened his eyes to it. That was a possibility too, one that she could at least understand, even if it saddened her immensely for the detective’s sake. “I’ll stay anyway,” she emphasized rather forcefully.

Holding up his hands in surrender, the older Halstead chuckled lightly, the sound decidedly lacking the intensity and expressiveness his younger brother’s chortle possessed. “Knock yourself out, I wouldn’t dare to tell you what to do. Just saying, my baby brother will be fine on his own. He doesn’t need a babysitter, hasn’t for the longest time, and he made sure everyone knew too. So, don’t expect him to give you a warm welcome once he wakes up.” Trudy shook her head, dismayed by the doctor’s assessment. Chuckles might not need a nanny, but didn’t Will think Jay might need or at the very least want family by his side right now? Even if he didn’t need anyone per se it didn’t validate leaving the kid to deal with everything on his own. But apparently that’s what was and probably had been happening for a long time. No wonder the detective was always so closed off. This right here explained quite a lot. And it gave her even more reason to stay.

“Anyway,” Will cleared his throat, pulling her from his thoughts, “I’m out of here now. Good luck in there. I hope he isn’t too much of a pain in the ass,” he snorted, adjusting his shoulder bag. Platt scoffed, deciding against giving the doctor a verbal response, knowing if she opened her mouth right now, she wouldn’t exactly have a lot of nice things to say to him, if any. Instead, she bit her tongue, not so much for the ginger’s sake but more so for the kid on the other side of that door, counted to ten in her head to rein in her anger and entered the hospital room.

…

Jay jerked awake violently, his none too gentle reintroduction into consciousness pulling a pained groan from his throat. The sound dragged Trudy’s eyes away from the glossy currently perched on her lap, fixing on the battered and bruised figure in the hospital bed instead. She suppressed a sigh of relief, thankful for the welcome distraction from the dull and boring newest gossip on Chicago’s snobbiest. Those poorly written articles didn’t even interest her, the only reason why she read them in the first place the need to pass time.

For the past half hour, her heart hadn’t been in it anymore anyway, her attention much rather drawn to the young man; restless twitches and barely audible grunts of someone in the throes of what appeared to be increasingly disturbing nightmares more and more frequent. It was awful to just sit there and watch, but a healthy sense of self-preservation prohibited her from waking him up. Being punched, choked, or worse: having her neck snapped by someone who had breezed through one of the toughest military training programs there were wasn’t on her agenda today. Or any other day for that matter. Now, that he was no longer under the spell of a bad dream, remembering and reliving the torture he had endured at the hands of Derek Keyes and his henchmen, she felt safe enough to approach him though.

Closing the magazine whilst untangling her crossed legs, she allowed him just enough time to blink the residual sleep from his eyes and orient himself before she greeted him. “Chuckles.” Platt discarded the paper on the small side table and moved to stand beside the railing near the foot of the bed. There was an instant tension in his posture, his pitiful attempt to sit up straighter clouding his features with barely concealed pain. While she couldn’t see his chest, contusions and burns obscured by the pale hospital gown, she assumed the shuffling around wasn’t exactly an easy task with his injuries. And still, he put himself through the agony, just for the sake of standing, or sitting in this case, at attention for a superior. Damn his constant need to please.

Halstead resisted the urge to hiss, wince, cry out, or show any other verbal sign of his physical distress in front of the desk sergeant, instead settling on closing his eyes for the briefest moment as he tried to relax his spasming abdominal muscles. Once he opened them again, the traces of discomfort were miraculously wiped off his face, safe for the hairline wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and the dark bruises all over his facial features. Trudy wondered how he pulled it off, mused that he must have had a lifetime worth of experience with it.

“Sarge,” he acknowledged quietly, his voice rough and deep, a stark contrast to his usually soft baritone. He hated how croaky and scratchy it sounded, though he wasn’t surprised at all by that development. Screaming his lungs out while being tasered continuously in some of the most delicate places would do that to the vocal cords. An involuntary shudder ran through him, starting another wave of pain to ripple across his torso. Maybe he shouldn’t have refused those stronger pain meds, Dr. Choi had offered. Then again, he wasn’t particularly keen on being drugged up right now, not for as long as he was stuck in the hospital. He needed to be alert, needed to be able to wake up. Frankly, he preferred not to sleep at all. Dr. Choi had understood instantly. His brother though, had been a different matter. Speaking off his brother, glancing around the room he realized that the ginger was nowhere to be seen. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “Where’s Will?” he asked, dreading the answer already. The detective had a fairly good idea where the other man had disappeared to.

“Your brother left a while ago,” Trudy replied simply. “Went to grab a beer or two at Molly’s.” Jay’s frown deepened, mouth pressed into a thin line and a muscle in his jaw twitching nervously. As much as it grieved him, this was exactly what he had suspected. Faced with an uncomfortable situation, especially one involving his annoying little brother, the older Halstead’s instinct was to run and party any arising difficulties away. An unhealthy coping strategy, one that had always worked for the redhead, and he knew he should have gotten used to the ginger bailing on him. Yet, here he was, twenty-eight and still clinging to that frantic hope that for once his brother cared enough to stay with him, comfort and support him in the same way he had craved for it when he had been eight years old. Will never failed to disappoint in that regard. He’d come to accept it a long time ago, but it still hurt. It hurt more than he would ever admit.

Jay swallowed, tried to school his expression into one of indifference but sensing Trudy’s squinting eyes on him, he had a feeling he wasn’t in the least successful. She probably had seen the flicker of pain already; the woman was attentive like that. To his surprise, she didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity to make fun of it though. Instead, she tallied her clarification with what was most likely supposed to be reassuring. “He’ll probably come and check on you after.” If only she knew. Obviously, she didn’t know his brother very well.

Knitting his brows and twisting his face in a sardonic smile, he shook his head vigorously. “No, he won’t,” he replied subduedly, voice barely above a whisper. There were those unwanted feelings again, the despondency and the loneliness that seemed to follow him around wherever he went. He really couldn’t deal with those right now, his nerves still too raw, his mind still too fragile after the events of the past twenty-four hours. So, he pushed them down. Cleared his throat and changed the topic. “Not to appear rude or anything,” he glanced down at his lap to hide the lingering emotions. Mesmerized by the stark white bandage on his left wrist, he started picking on the material, “but why are you here? Did you draw the short straw or something?” A hollow chuckle accompanied his words, a single wretched gurgling sound.

Trudy’s heart clenched as she heard it, squeezed painfully in her chest as it was once and for all confirmed that what had earned him the moniker was indeed his go-to tactic whenever he needed to cover up his insecurities. Whether anyone believed it or not, she had really hoped to be wrong with this. She fixed him with a scrutinizing look, one of the intense ones that made the young detective extremely uncomfortable, if his squirming was anything to go by, but was needed to bring her point across with what she said next. “As the matriarch of the twenty-first it is my duty to make sure all,” she put a little extra emphasis on that one, “the officers under my command are okay.”

Purposely or not, Jay missed the point anyway, thinking instead that her visit wasn’t a social call but merely done out of a sense of obligation. Figured. Had he even expected anything else? If he was being honest with himself, he had. Deep down Jay had hoped that under all of that tormenting and hazing, under all the crap she was giving him daily, she might care at least a little bit about him after all. Care about him as a person, not just her subordinate. But once again, he was reminded that his expectations from others were always too high, a byproduct of this foolish belief of his that he was worthy enough to receive their affection and love. He should have learned by now that this wasn’t the case, and he loathed himself so much for the fact that he hadn’t.

Jay huffed to himself in a deprecating way. Bitterness and anger at himself bubbled dangerously close to the surface, ready to be directed at someone else. Filters suddenly off, he couldn’t keep the overwhelming flood of emotions in check any longer. “Yea well, I’m okay,” he snarled cynically. “As you can see, your very personal punching bag is still very much alive and breathing, so don’t worry, you don’t have to look for another one of those.” Trudy blinked, her jaw dropping. “With that cleared up, I’d like to be alone now, so I hereby relieve you of all babysitting duties. I don’t need you watching me sleep.” Breaths came in rather harshly by now, his agitation jarring his ailing ribs. A permanent wince was etched on his features and he curled a protective arm around his midsection to relieve some of the pain. He forced himself to calm down, slowly puffing air through his nose, already disgusted by himself for blowing up in Platt’s of all people’s faces.

Momentarily too baffled by his impetuous reaction to take note of his physical discomfort, the desk sergeant found herself rooted to the linoleum floor. She’d never heard him use this tone before, this blazing resentment, the barely hidden reproach for her maltreatment of him. He might have kept himself in check somewhat but that he pushed back and basically told her to back off for once was so unlike him that it was downright scary. It was also refreshing to see that he was capable of it, once again proving that the only reason she hadn’t witnessed it yet was because he chose not to talk in that way with coworkers, and especially not commanding officers. A commendable trait, though it wouldn’t hurt him to at least defend himself every now and then.

Shaking herself out of her stupor and regaining her composure, Trudy was spurred into action. She spun around on her heel, for the briefest of moments giving the impression that she would indeed leave him alone, but instead she beelined for the hospital chair in the corner of the room, dragging the plastic furniture over and placing it right next to the head of the bed. She plopped herself down, crossing one leg over the other and perching her arms on the upper knee. Chuckles followed every movement with confusion.

“Halstead,” she addressed him, an odd mixture of sobriety and softness in her voice, “after two years of working at my district, you should be aware that nobody, and I mean nobody forces me to do anything. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here.” The words were quiet, deliberately spaced out just a bit more for she wanted them to fully sink in. She gaged his reaction carefully, noticing the twitch of his eyelids as he soaked in every tidbit of information, easily reading the doubt and disbelief off his scrunched-up face. Meeting her gaze, his bewildered frown deepened even more as he caught a glimmer of emotion in Platt’s greenish-brown eyes. An emotion that he wasn’t used to being directed at him, not from her anyway. Come to think of it, not from anyone for that matter, at least not since his mom had passed six years ago: fondness, mixed with a healthy amount of concern.

Wait, that couldn’t be right. Could it? This was Trudy Platt they were talking about, the woman who had made it her life goal to tear every ounce of confidence and pride that he possessed away from him. Surely, she couldn’t be fond or concerned about him. This was ridiculous, a trick his mind was playing on him, he was sure of that. He must still be enmeshed in the massive web of agonizing memories, both old and recent. This was a whole new layer of grisliness to his dreams. Whilst his nightmares always walked that exceptionally fine line right at the abyss to night terrors, they never threw him a lifeline of elusive hope that hinted at this misleading sense of safety. If asked what was worse, the physical torture or the mental torment of being deceived into believing that he could have what he always craved for the most: someone who cared enough to stay with him either through agonizing nights filled with way too real incubi or exhausting bouts of insomnia, only to realize that this was always just out of reach, a mere inch away, he’d always choose the former. He’d take a beating over false hope any day.

“On another note,” Platt broke through his thoughts, and he blinked heavily, realizing that he had checked out there for a minute, “we both know that even if you wanted to, you won’t be getting another wink of sleep. Not tonight, not while still in the hospital anyway.” The young detective shuddered, knowing she was right about that. He wouldn’t catch any more z’s, not after jolting awake from such a vivid memory earlier, neither did he have any intention to even so much as try to close his eyes. “So, I’m just going to stay right here in this very chair and keep you company, whether you want me to or not. We can chat, or we can sit, or in your case lie, in silence, I don’t care, but I’m not going to leave.” As if to prove her point, she shrugged out of her cardigan, then her shoes, propping the latter up on the tiny nightstand and draped the former over her legs.

Jay didn’t know what to make of any of this, his brain turned to complete mush. He really must be dreaming. Or maybe the concussion messed with him more than he had initially thought. Random muscles in his facial features twitched as he tried to come up with a coherent thought, something clever to say. Eventually, the synapses connected again, and her words fully registered. Who was this woman? What had she done with Platt? And what was she playing at? There must be some ulterior motive here, right? Determined to get to the bottom of it, he asked. “But…why?” he blurted out. “Why do you care all of a sudden? Last time I checked you didn’t even like me. In fact, you made it abundantly clear right from the start that you hated my guts,” he called her out, though there was no blame in his voice anymore, merely puzzlement.

There was the slightest hesitation in her reply as she lowered her feet to the ground, leaning forward in her chair. Perching her elbows on her knees she looked straight at him, a rare expression of remorse and regret on her face. Waiting for him to lock his Maui blues on her brown eyes, she made sure he internalized every single word she said. “Because I care.” She noticed the flicker of hope in his irises. “I know I have a funny way of showing it,” he huffed humorlessly, “but I can assure you my hazing comes from a place of love.” Halstead looked decidedly doubtful about that and seeing the disbelief in his features gave her the necessary nudge to offer the apology she had come here for. “That said, I know my remarks sometimes bordered on harassment. A lot of them were unjustified and inexcusable, and I’m deeply ashamed about those because I know how much they affected you.” Jay shook his head in denial, but she raised her eyebrows at him knowingly. “I know they affected you. I’m truly sorry.”

Worrying his split lip, the brunette met her eyes briefly, allowing Platt a glimpse into the myriad of emotions currently washing over him. She couldn’t identify every single one of them, and she assumed even the detective was overwhelmed with all the feelings flooding him right now, but she caught a few of them when he spoke. “Thank you. It means a lot,” he extended softly, gratitude and relief in his voice. Almost as if a huge burden had just been lifted off him. In a way it had, the heavy clutch of thinking that someone whom he looked up to hated him easing off. There was no forgiveness, not that she expected him to forgive him so easily if at all. Then again, she wasn’t sure he had even held a grudge or felt like there was anything to forgive in the first place. To be honest, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.

She observed him as he scooted lower on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, listened to the sharper inhales when the movement jostled his broken ribs. His arm instinctively wrapped around his midsection again and he closed his eyes, the lids remaining shut even when the meandering creases on his forehead smoothed out a bit. Silence settled over them and for a moment Trudy thought he might have fallen asleep despite both their agreement on the fact that he probably wouldn’t. But then his still scratchy voice broke her from her scrutiny. “Can I ask you something, Sarge?” he asked, sounding almost nervous. He popped one eye open to see her reaction, Platt permitting him with a simple nod. “Why Chuckles?”

Trudy’s instinctive reaction was a genuine and impulsive barked laugh, barely unable to conceal her surprise at the question. “Oh, because that’s what you do, Chuckles.” He opened the other eye as well and tilted his head in confused incredulity. “You chuckle at everything and you chuckle all day long. It’s tooth-rottingly cute.” Daring a sideways glance at him, she noticed the unimpressed expression on his face, but it didn’t deceive her. The rosy hue of embarrassment shining through from under the multicolored bruises gave him away, so did the breezy chortle that he tried so hard to suppress. For a second, she wondered whether she should give him the real reason but decided against it. She didn’t want to dampen the mood again. Not right now, not when he needed the distraction from his dark thoughts. So instead, she settled on giving him just that, a distraction, something to keep his mind occupied. “You wouldn’t believe what nickname my very first sergeant gave me…”

She launched into a lively tale of her rookie days as a patrol officer, embellishing the story with all the hilarious and humiliating details that she could remember, for once not caring in the least about making herself look like a fool, even prompting a chuckle from him here and there. Unburdened giggles and guffaws even, ones that filled her heart with warmth. She knew then and there, somehow, despite their rocky start, they had finally broken the ice. It was only the first step of many, but they would be okay. And maybe, just maybe, their newfound understanding would allow her to crack that nut that was Army Ranger Sergeant turned CPD Detective Jay Halstead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm immensely proud to announce that this is the first time ever that I finished a multi-chapter story!
> 
> Let me know what you think and if I should work through the ending again.
> 
> In case you're wondering about the origin of the quotes, they are all from season 2 episodes, namely 2x01, 2x04, 2x16 (in that order).
> 
> Stay safe, stay vigilant, stay healthy.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is merely a prelude of sorts for the actual exploration of how Jay acquired his nickname Chuckles.
> 
> I hope I'm doing Trudy's character justice. She is such an intriguing character and incredibly hard to nail.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy and have a Happy New Year!


End file.
